


Uncertain Warmth

by pyrrhical (anoyo)



Series: Author's Favorites [5]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-14
Updated: 2012-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-03 15:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoyo/pseuds/pyrrhical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Spock wakes, the first thing he thinks isn’t, these are not my quarters.  He doesn’t think, I do not recall laying down to rest.  He doesn’t panic and spring into action.  Instead, he thinks, home, and, safe.  Part of his mind is telling him in no uncertain terms that this is not his home, that this cannot be his home, for he has never seen these particular walls, sheets, or drapes before in his life.  But Spock cannot stop the overwhelming sense of calm and warmth that radiates into him from the simple act of waking, there, wherever he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uncertain Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to D for the amazing beta! As always, her betas make everything I write 1000x better. Any mistakes remaining are entirely my own.
> 
> This fic is based off a weird dream I had. So apologies for how some of it gets a little -- well, possibly dreamy.

When Spock wakes, the first thing he thinks isn’t, _these are not my quarters_. He doesn’t think, _I do not recall laying down to rest_. He doesn’t panic and spring into action. Instead, he thinks, _home_ , and, _safe_. Part of his mind is telling him in no uncertain terms that this is not his home, that this cannot be his home, for he has never seen these particular walls, sheets, or drapes before in his life. But Spock cannot stop the overwhelming sense of calm and warmth that radiates into him from the simple act of waking, there, wherever he is.

It takes Spock approximately two minutes of basking in that calm feeling to realize that this is, as the Captain would put it, bad, bad, very bad.

As he is easily able to twist into a seated position and shake off the last remnants of sleep, Spock knows that he has not been drugged. Or, at least, he has not been lastingly drugged. He can feel no contaminants in his body, and the particular edge of the hallucinogenic is not upon him. Wherever he is, he is lucid, and capable of exploration.

Further exploration that will have to take place when he is able to ascertain where his pants are. Spock is not unaccustomed to sleeping in the nude, when it is called for, but he does not believe it is something he would choose in an unknown and unfamiliar environment. He hesitates to draw any conclusions, but at present, all signs indicate that Spock did not have any rational input in his own movement prior to sleep, and that is incredibly disconcerting.

A chest of drawers near the bed, made of a deep mahogany wood Spock does not immediately recognize, opens to reveal a pair of drawstring slacks that Spock appropriates in order to further move from the room.

A test proves that the door to the room is unlocked, and Spock opens it slowly, walking out into a well-lit hallway. A quick glance tells him that the hall leads out into a central, open area, and that there are two doors off the hall itself. When he checks, the left opens onto a bathroom, mostly neat, but with signs of recent use, and the right opens into an office, littered with papers, cabinets, and a panel vidscreen, dark for the moment. His reach for a stack of papers is stopped by the sound of muted voices somewhere beyond the hallway. Spock quickly exits the room and closes the door.

He makes his way down the hallway on soft feet toward the voices, but comes to an abrupt stop as he nears the end of the hall. One of the voices, in particular, sounds very familiar.

“You’re home a day early!” a girl’s voice exclaims, enthusiasm evident. Spock would place her in her early adolescent years, but her accent is more difficult. She is speaking Terran Standard, but her vowels are longer, and her ultimates have upward accents.

“Home a day early means pancakes,” says a boy’s voice. The boy’s voice is more clipped, more formal, but Spock can still hear the warmth. He makes the statement as though it is a given fact, and his Terran Standard, while formal, carries with it the same accent as the girl’s. Spock would guess that he is the younger, regardless of his formality.

“What do you think the batter’s for, pretzels? Do you even use batter to make pretzels? Of course pancakes,” the third voice says, the voice that made Spock pause. It’s deeper, but it carries with it the same accent as the children’s. It’s rough but fluid, and Spock thinks he could place it anywhere, under any circumstances, but something feels -- off. 

Such as why Spock woke up when he does not remember going to sleep. And why he woke up where he has never been. And why there are suddenly children. And why that voice seems, somehow, calmer. Like the bed, the walls, the house itself -- they simply exude a sense of calm. A sense Spock cannot place.

He does not know why he is here, but he is the First Officer on the _Enterprise_ , and stranger things have happened.

Spock steps out of the hallway and toward the voices. He is immediately in the entry to a kitchen and dining area, and he is gratified to see that his assessments were correct. There are indeed two children sitting at the small, circular table, one male and one female, and they both turn to look at him as he enters. So too does the older man, who is, to Spock’s best, unfailingly logical assessment, some manifestation of an older, less manic Jim Kirk. Making pancakes.

Spock reevaluates his analysis of whether or not he has been drugged. Or perhaps put into some sort of trance state.

He jumps out of his thoughts when the man -- who is, but can’t be, Jim Kirk -- says, “Well, good morning. It’s almost 0800. Aria threatened to go check and see if you were still breathing if you didn’t surface soon.” The man smirks, and it’s a smirk that Spock recognizes, knows means there’s some joke there that Spock should understand. Spock becomes more concerned. If this is a hallucinogenic trance, it is detailed and strong, and that does not bode well. Not-Kirk seems to see something on Spock’s face, because he asks, “What’s up?” He purses his lips, then says, as though trying to project under-his-breath tones across a room, “If this is about Exeter, I thought we _finished_ that discussion, Spock, okay? Yeah?” His eyes are serious, and Spock recognizes the look, the tone, the way Jim Kirk _is_ when he knows there’s something amiss but he won’t deal with it just yet.

His thoughts, and Not-Kirk’s Look, are interrupted by a drawled, “Dad,” from the little girl -- Aria, Spock’s brain intuits. “Dad, did you do something stupid?”

Not-Kirk turns a brilliant smile on the girl, and Spock can see the resemblance, suddenly. Golden hair, bright smile, palpable energy -- she is conceivably the daughter of Captain James Kirk. There is an _other_ about her, as well, but Spock can see where that would come in. It would be completely unrealistic for the girl to be carbon-copied; she requires a second parent. Spock sees bits that must be that second parent in the thinner line of her jaw, the sharper jut of her cheekbones, the dark, chocolate brown of her eyes. And -- oh.

 _Oh_.

Spock knows that in the future, he will credit his intellect with understanding before finality was given, but it is a shallow victory. The house is Terran in design, but the open windows, the light, the decorations, are all -- Vulcan. He understands.

Not-Kirk responds to his daughter’s accusation, but Spock can feel his eyes. As before, Spock knows something must show on his face. He has schooled it perfectly, he knows, but this Kirk, some manifestation of his own mind, can know things, perhaps, that Spock does not anticipate.

But no, that is impossible.

“Yeah, probably stupid,” Not-Kirk is saying, “but your father and I talked about it, and it’s an adult thing.”

“Ugh, dad, mean,” the girl says, scrunching up her face. “Adult thing,” she says with disdain. “I’m big enough for adult things, now. You said _Exeter_ to father. That’s the name of Captain Sulu’s ship, right? If you don’t tell me, I’m just going to figure it out, anyway. I’m sure it’s on the ether, somewhere.”

This time Not-Kirk makes a face. “Sometimes, you’re too much like me for your own dang good.” He puts down his spatula and crosses his arms. “Fine, then. No pancakes for you.”

This causes far more of a commotion than Spock anticipates, but Not-Kirk seems to be expecting it. Aria throws herself out of her chair and flails her arms all around herself. “What! But daddy! Does Saylen still get pancakes? I just want to _know_! I bet you got _hurt_! Father wouldn’t be _mad_ otherwise!” At this, the girl rounds on Spock and throws her arms wide. “Father, tell daddy you’re mad and he should tell me and I should still get pancakes!”

Spock is, for lack of any proper terminology, dumbstruck. A glance to Not-Kirk confirms his mirth in regards to the entire situation, until his eyes meet Spock’s and something unknown flickers through them. Then, as in a thousand situations Spock can already name, Jim comes to his rescue.

“Now, Aria, I’m the one who said you can’t have pancakes, and what have we said about asking one of us for something the other has said you can’t have?” Not-Kirk says, and Spock can hear the mock-severity of his voice, even as Not-Kirk pulls his eyebrows together to try to look commanding.

Aria pouts, for a moment, before deflating into the chair she had previously occupied. “Sorry, daddy,” she says, as though the phrase is entirely too common.

“You’re forgiven,” Not-Kirk replies, turning to pick his spatula back up. “And just in time, too, because I think the pancakes are done.”

Aria lets out a shriek and throws up her hands as Not-Kirk turns with a platter of pancakes and Spock lets his attention drift to the boy -- Saylen -- who is smiling mutely at the girl Spock assumes is his sister. The boy shifts his attention to Spock, then, as though he feels his gaze. “Will you join us?” the boy asks, gesturing to a seat between himself and Aria, on the far side of the table from where Not-Kirk is ladling out pancakes. The boy’s grammar is perfectly correct and polite, and Spock is quite impressed with him.

He is saved from answering, however, as Not-Kirk, sets the platter of pancakes on table and says, “Not quite yet. Your father and I are going to have a quick chat, but we’ll be right back, I promise.” He smiles brightly, but neither child seems assuaged.

Saylen’s eyebrows crease, but Aria openly squeals. “Daddy! I knew father was angry with you! And now you’re going to go talk and we’ll never get to hear about it and it’s _not fair_!” she says, puffing her lower lip out in a very exaggerated pout.

Not-Kirk laughs as he brushes his hands off and moves around the table toward where Spock is standing. “Unfortunately, sweetheart, sometimes things just aren’t fair. I’m sure you’ll have your own secrets someday, and then I’ll be the one needling you about them.” He grins. “Just wait and see.”

Aria looks skeptical, but jabs her fork into a piece of pancake and says, “Fine,” huffily.

Saylen merely looks at both Spock and Not-Kirk for a few moments before turning his attention back to his pancakes. If Spock looks very closely, he might see that Saylen is, just slightly, exasperated. At what, Spock doesn’t know.

Not-Kirk approaches Spock and makes a gesture back down the hallway that Spock emerged from moments before. Spock nods and turns to walk back toward the room in which he had awoken. He can hear Not-Kirk a few paces behind him and his back tenses, unconsciously, as he walks.

The door clicks shut softly once both Spock and Not-Kirk are inside, Spock letting his eyes drift back to the drapes that he had woken to. The room is bright, airy, and Spock feels the same strange sense of calm upon entering as he felt upon waking. As though the room, itself, is a safe place. It’s unnatural -- he has never been here before -- but he does not fight it. It helps to center his mind, and Spock knows that he will need to be aware for whatever conversation is coming.

He still is not prepared enough for what Not-Kirk says. “You’re not my Spock, are you?” Not-Kirk asks. “I mean, you’re Spock, a Spock, but not mine. Am I right?” Not-Kirk smiles, a thin line that Spock recognizes as his doing-a-duty-I’d-rather-not smile. “Your face is giving you away. Oh, don’t be insulted, I’ve known you far too long not to be able to read you like a very, very challenging book.”

“I do not know what you mean,” Spock says, in clipped tones. And it’s the truth -- he has absolutely no idea what Not-Kirk is talking about, except -- Except that he might. It would make sense. Perhaps if --

“What I mean is, the Spock that should be here, in this universe, or maybe just this time, I guess I’ve seen both played around with, isn’t. You’re not him. I think you’re still _Spock_ , I mean, I feel you, through the barriers you’ve got up.” Not-Kirk laughs. “And boy, Spock, do you have some barriers up, like you’re expecting a world to --” And Not-Kirk stops. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s what I’ve been feeling, that pulling, that’s _Vulcan_ , my god.” And Not-Kirk looks horrified.

But not as horrified as Spock is, because apparently -- _apparently_ , this man can read through Spock’s barriers. He can read the pain that no Vulcan is willing to admit, except to the most adeptly trained healers. (And there are no more adeptly trained healers, they were all on Vulcan, and they did their duty to evacuate as many as they could, but that meant sacrificing themselves, and so --) “Whatever conclusion you have made, I would appreciate your sharing it,” Spock says, and he keeps his voice level through all the skill and training he possesses.

“You’re so young,” Not-Kirk says, and his eyes are sad. He seems to jolt, then the corners of his eyes wrinkle and his look deepens. “Spock, I believe you have switched places in time with yourself. I can try to confirm this if you will answer a few questions for me. You will have to trust me. Can you do that?”

Spock thinks. He awoke free of any bonds, and he does not sense any danger from this man who resembles his captain. If this is a hallucination, playing along is perhaps the best choice. If it is not, and this man -- Jim Kirk, actually, but _in the future_ , and Spock does not want to think about that -- can help, agreeing is again to his benefit. “Yes,” Spock says.

“Good,” Kirk says. “What is the last thing you remember, before waking up this morning?”

“Setting course for Gamma Ceti III,” Spock says.

“Did anything unusual happen?” Kirk asks. 

Spock realizes he has started to think of this man as _Kirk_ , and not a fake, but dismisses the thought. He answers, “There was a strange fluctuation in nacelle output. Commander Scott said he was going to shift capacitors to attempt to remedy it.”

“Huh,” Kirk says, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I remember that. It didn’t work. In fact, he blew half the nacelles to shit.” Kirk blinks. “Which could, theoretically, cause some pretty weird crap.”

“I do not recall an explosion,” Spock says. He does not know if Kirk is lying to him, but Kirk appears, and is acting, so similar to Spock’s own captain in this instance that Spock cannot -- he simply cannot help but play along.

“No, you wouldn’t, if the nacelles exploding were what did this.” He pauses. “That means that my Spock is the one who wound up in your shoes on the bridge.” Kirk frowns at that, running a hand through his hair. “Why don’t I remember _that_?”

A thought runs through Spock’s head. “Assuming a linear understanding of time, I would recall this instance of having been thrown into the future and expect to wake up on the bridge of the _Enterprise_ after having gone to sleep, thus negating the confusion that I, myself, am facing.”

“Yeah,” Kirk says, “but why wouldn’t you tell _me_?”

“I --” Spock pauses, then continues, because he does not believe this Kirk will be offended (he pointedly does not think about why. “I would not trust you, were this event to have happened between myself and the James Kirk of my present. Perhaps I would recall that, as well, and continue to act in accordance with my character.”

Kirk’s eyebrows shoot up. “Well, that’s -- honest. Why are you trusting me now, then?”

“I weighed my choices,” Spock says. “Either I am hallucinating and need to play along in order to accommodate the creators of the hallucination, or you are telling the truth and are the only person who can be of assistance to me at this time. Under either circumstance, it is advisable to trust you.” He leaves out the inexplicable tranquility that the home, and indeed Kirk, leave him with.

Spock’s explanation makes Kirk laugh. “Yeah, I guess so,” Kirk says, still smiling. “Very logical.” He shrugs. “I’m pretty sure I’m not a hallucination, though. If I am, I’m a damn detailed hallucination,” Kirk says, and his grin is a mile wide.

“I see,” Spock says, though he really doesn’t. “What do you suggest we do?”

“Well, if I remember correctly, we fixed the nacelles after about an hour by throwing them back into alignment, which caused another ridiculous explosion.” Kirk shrugs. “Based on how you stared at me after _that_ explosion, I’m assuming this whole thing just rights itself.”

“Within an hour,” Spock repeats.

“Yeah, if I remember correctly,” Kirk says, grinning and knocking a finger against his temple.

Spock feels the urge to roll his eyes, but resists. “I do not know how far into the future we are, but the human memory degenerates at an increased rate with increased age, and --”

He is cut off, unexpectedly, by Kirk’s laughter. “You are young, Spock.” Kirk is smiling at him in a way Spock would call fond, and the warmth grows, somehow, warmer. “I keep forgetting there are things that this you doesn’t know. My memory’s just as good as yours.” Spock opens his mouth, but Kirk cuts him off again, saying, “I’m just a lot better at not shoving that fact down everyone’s throat.”

“You mean that you hide it,” Spock says, and he is surprised at his own vehemence. The part of himself that is confused is eclipsed by the part of himself that is -- betrayed.

Kirks smile falls a little and he says, “Yeah. I needed to, once. Defense mechanism. Took a while to get over it. But you know all those things, now.” Spock thinks he knows what Kirk means, when he says “now.” He means the Spock who lives here, in this warm, comforting room. In this _home_.

“When is now?” Spock asks, before he can stop himself.

Shaking his head, Kirk says, “I think you’ll just have to wait and see. No future is written in stone, after all. I don’t want to give you checkpoints. I think, honestly, even seeing this much was probably breaking some cosmic rules.” He frowns. “Then again, the Old Man broke a few cosmic rules with my brain, so all’s fair.”

Spock would like to question, but he feels a tugging, somewhere at the center of his chest. When he looks down, he sees only darkness where there used to be his person, and he knows that Kirk’s memory was accurate. He is on the bridge of the _Enterprise_ , standing almost exactly where he was standing when he left when he looks up once again, and he allows himself a long breath out. He catches the captain’s attention with this.

“Spock? Something wrong?” Kirk -- Spock’s Kirk, and Spock would question the possessive, only he’s not, and that’s something he’ll analyze later, perhaps -- asks, looking up from his seat in the captain’s chair, legs neatly crossed despite the look of consternation on his face.

“Other than the malfunction with the warp nacelles, Captain?” Spock asks, raising an eyebrow.

Kirk chuckles. “Other than that, yeah.”

“No, sir,” Spock says. He can’t help but keep his eyebrow raised at his own lie. Though, perhaps, it isn’t a lie. He is home -- his home, the _Enterprise_ , and all is well.

As well as can be with the warp nacelles exploding, at any rate.

“Well, let me know if I can do anything to help,” Kirk says, giving Spock a rare half-smile, the ones Spock was just starting to believe were Kirk’s _real_ smiles -- though, now, he knows they pale in comparison to the full, soft smiles that the future Kirk had given his children, but they bear a certain resemblance, one that Spock knows will litter his thoughts.

“Of course, captain,” Spock says, and turns to return to the science station. There is, after all, a catastrophe at hand. He cannot be caught up in any personal business, even if that personal business is as truly unique as Spock’s own. “Warp functionality, Mr. Scott?” Spock asks, through his comm channel.


End file.
